


Personal Hell

by Xela



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Electricity, M/M, Unrepentant porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/379.html?thread=1071483#t1071483">From the Kink Meme:</a> "I've been loving the Kirk/Chekov that's been posted so far. *_* So: Kirk/Chekov; Kirk doesn't want to admit to being attracted to the Enterprise's youngest crewman, but when they've got a late shift together and Chekov just won't keep quiet, Kirk can't keep his hands to himself.</p>
<p>Bonus points for Chekov reminiscing about home or telling a Russian story and Kirk being all entranced. Double bonus points for console!sex. Triple bonus points if it's slow and sweet."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Hell

Spock did this on purpose. That's the only logical explanation. Jim glares down at the floor. This must be Vulcan revenge, trapping him on the bridge during the midnight shift with Chekov for company.

"And so we went back to my dorm to have the sex--" Jim buries his face in his hands, imaging NOT being the only person on the bridge with Chekov, who is merrily reciting _every single_ one of his sexual mishaps for Jim's listening pleasure. Or eternal torment. He hasn't quite figured out which.

Chekov's mouth is a special circle of Hell, Jim decides as the man in question launches into a convoluted story about small villages in Russia where sex is a very complicated endeavor that involves flow charts and best friend clearance. That topic segues seamlessly into Chekov's exploits at the Academy, and Jim has to wonder why he's never heard tales of the teenage Russian genius who once slept with the entire Chess Team.

"And Ensign Rand particularly enjoyed something called 'reverse cowboy,' which I still do not understand but it _was_ wery good, and--"

Jim tries not to imagine Chekov doing...that. To him. Right here on the bridge. He hopes, a little desperately, that maybe someone will come up with a problem that needs his attention. Immediately. But he knows it's futile because no one ever pops up uninvited during this shift.

Jim watches the way Chekov's hands move and shift as he talks, sculpting examples and descriptions in the air. That quickly changes to imaged of those slender fingers biting into Jim's skin, guiding him, them.

"...and he was wery rude!" Chekov concludes emphatically and Jim startles out of his daydreams. Chekov is looking at him expectantly, almost like a puppy dog that's performed a new trick and wants a cookie. Which is a problem, because Jim would love to give Chekov every goddamn cookie he has and then some.

Which is why, Jim reminds himself, he's hating Spock right now. For sticking him on the bridge. Alone. With Chekov. Who is eighteen and has apparently slept with every rude, inconsiderate asshole from Earth to Rigel 4.

"And there was Kieran, of course. Was what you call 'love them and leave them.' We had nothing but sex, and then my favorite shirt was gone."

"Have you thought about girls?" Jim suggests, voice coming out strangled and choked. "Like, not in the context of a Chess Team orgy? Maybe start off easy with a threesome?"

"Kieran was a girl," Chekov says, his brow furrowing in confusion. Jim lets his head fall back and stares at the ceiling of his ship. Spock has actually created living hell for him. "She was wery good with the sex, but not...nice. It was always wery fast with her, she had much anger. Very aggressive." Jim imagines being aggressive with Chekov, pressing him against a wall, picking him up, fucking him hard and fast against a bulkhead without--

"But that is not what I want anymore." Jim's fantasies come to a screeching halt. "I would just like to meet nice person, who enjoys slow and is not in huge rush all the time." Chekov sighs mournfully, "But I think it is not to be."

Jim saw his body moving towards Chekov and thought, _Oh so THIS is what they mean by 'out of body.'_

Chekov's incessant babbling cuts off abruptly as Jim tilts his face up, thumbs tracing Chekov's cheekbones. 

"K-keptin?" Chekov breaths, eyes wide. Jim watches the way his navigator's eyes dilate and his pulse speeds up. Jim kisses him, gently, alluringly, seducing Chekov even though he's a pretty sure thing. Chekov _melts_ into the kiss, returns it with enthusiastic passion. Jim smiles at that, because really he should have known.

"You can call me Jim," he breathes against Chekov's lips before pressing close, guiding Chekov into a standing position so they're pressed together. Chekov's hands roam Jim's body as if he doesn't know where to touch first and wants to feel it all, right now. He settles on Jim's ass, which makes Jim laugh something that sounds like 'atta boy.'

"Then you must call me Pavel," Chekov says firmly when Jim lets him go.

"Pavel. Alright."

Jim has to admit, Pavel has something with this whole 'slow and tender' thing. Jim's gotten used to drunken fumblings and desperate fucks. "Love 'em and leave 'em." But this slow exploration—stroking hot skin until it becomes so sensitive he can feel it throughout his whole body, toomuchfeelsgood—is something he's never known to miss. And a small, frantic part of him isn't sure he'll be able to forget.

Then Pavel strips off his shirt, hitches himself up on the console and tugs Jim closer, and it's fucking hot. There's no hesitation on Pavel's part; he knows what he wants. Jim's brain can't process anything but Pavel Pavel Pavel.

“Keptin,” Pavel pleads, leaning back. Jim swears and licks around Pave's nipples, up his chest to his neck. Pavel scrambles for purchase, hands slipping over the console's slick surface. Something beeps and Chekov stiffens, mouth going slack and eyes glazing.

“Pavel?” Jim asks, eyeing him askance. Pavel blinks and remembers how to breathe. “What was that?”

“I...I, uh--” His hand twitches, the beep sounds again, and he shudders.

“What the--” Jim leans over, glances at the screen and grins. Kinky bastard! Pavel's body has hit enough random keys that he's somehow created a feedback loop in the console. It's sending up a small electrical surge every time he hits 'engage.'

Well then.

Jim abruptly sweeps Pavel's arms from beneath him and sends him sprawling wantonly over the console top. Jim nips at the hollow of Pavel's throat and hits the button at the same time. Pavel yelps and arches beneath him.

“Good?” Jim asks, though he knows the answer. He just wants Pavel to try to speak, because he's kind of an asshole like. Pavel nods, a little frantic, and Jim hums against his chest. “What was that? Didn't hear.”

“Nnnuuuagvchick!” Pavel slurs, hands tightening around the edge of the console. Jim keeps up his torture, alternating between mild shocks, his teeth and lips, and any combination of the two, until Pavel is sweating and squirming and panting beneath him. “D-d-DAH! Yes, yes, please...”

Jim has never been more grateful for his skill at removing clothing with one hand than he is now, popping open Pavel's uniform pants and pushing it out of the way. It's beautiful, the way Pavel moans and thrashes. Jim wants to see it again. A lot. All the time. This could make captaining difficult, but Pavel slides his legs around Jim's waist and pulls him in.

Jim overbalances and falls against Pavel, his hand splayed along the console for support. He just happens to lay his hand down on the button, sending a prolonged shock through Pavel. Jim blinks as Pavel goes rigid, and realizes he's coming. Silently, head thrown back, neck chorded with effort, mouth open wide in a frozen cry. Like a lot about his intrepid ensign (see: _entire Chess Team_ ), it surprises Jim. He'd have thought Pavel would be loud.

It's a long, long minute and change before Pavel relaxes, slumping against the console, eyes closed.

“You back with us?” Jim asks, just this side of smug. Pavel grins lazily and runs a shaky hand over Jim's face.

“Was wery, _wery_ good.” Jim smirks and kisses him. In a matter of minutes Pavel's hard again, and Jim blesses the folly of youth. "Sir." Jim laughs, and Pavel looks adorably pleased with himself.

“Then your orders, Ensign,” he manages between nips, “are to go to my room and take off all your clothes and get in my bed. Any questions?”

“We are not...” Pavel lunges, trying to follow Jim's lips as he pulls away. “Shift. Is not over.”

“Pavel Andreievich,” Jim scolds lightly, “there are perks to being Keptin!”


End file.
